


If I move my hands fast enough I won't die

by complaining_is_cathartic



Series: Works that I say might become multi-chapter, but probably won't [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: -er than he lets on, Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, I just never got to it, Loki is a Good Bro, Misunderstood Tony Stark, Nat...was trying to be a good bro, Teen Avengers, This was supposed to be Stony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony is soft, for now..., idk wtf happened, one-shot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complaining_is_cathartic/pseuds/complaining_is_cathartic
Summary: Tony composes poetry in his head. He thinks in metaphors and watches the world through cynical lenses. He doesn't have anyone but himself to rely on... Except maybe Loki. Loki isn't so bad.Steve watches the world through optimistic eyes. He tries to look for the good in people... Except Stark. Stark is rotten to the core and doesn't deserve any of the respective he seems to garner.





	If I move my hands fast enough I won't die

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been itching to write a misunderstood teenage Tony for a while now, and I love the way this fic turned out. The title is from 888 by cavetown btw, you should totally listen to it.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (P.S.) If you see any mistakes could you point them out?

Ink smudges on his fingers as he pens out a few lines, soothing his raging thoughts… for now.

The messy scrawl across the coffee-stained paper is barely legible, but to him, it’s crystal clear. Even clearer than the blue cloudless sky above him.

He lies on his back, closing the worn spiral notebook and placing it beside him. Playful grass tickles his neck as he stares up into the never-ending space above. The sun caresses his cheeks, and he closes his eyes, bathing in the afternoon rays.

People talk and laugh around him, paying no mind to the resting teenager. They all become background noise, something for him to lose himself in.

He’s no longer lounging on a grassy hill; he’s simply floating. He’s so far in the sky that no one can reach him. He can barely make out the chatter of the people playing in the park, can barely hear the dissatisfied wails of an attention-seeking baby. He’s too far away and yet, not far away enough.

For now, he just _is_.

Time passes. Perhaps it was a minute or an hour, maybe even a second. Nonetheless, it passes, and the teen finds himself opening his eyes. The sun greets him upon his return and he is momentarily blinded by its brightness.

He wonders what it’s like to burn so brightly that you become the center of someone else’s world. He wonders if the sun even realizes its brilliance.

_You give us life, but who gives you yours?_

Seconds later, he’s scribbling new lines in the notebook. Its black cover is warm in his hands.

 

* * *

 

> _Orbiting around the sun_  
>  _Are flies._  
>  _Leeching off its warmth.  
>  _ _The sun does nothing  
>  _ _Because the flies are all it has._

 

* * *

 

Tony walks down the halls as if he owns them. (And maybe he does. With that much money, you could own anything.) He winks at cheerleaders and high-fives jocks.

People stare at him in hopes that he’ll grace them with his gaze. To them, he is like a God among unworthy subjects. To them, he is like the sun in their solar system. He is the center of so many people’s lives.

Steve thinks it’s sad, the way people clamor for the millionaire’s attention. They’ll grasp at anything: a smile, a passing gaze, a brushing of shoulders. In some respects, Steve understands it—the desire to _be_ _someone_ , to feel important. But it’s clear the guy doesn’t notice, doesn’t care. He just pushes them aside like he’s somehow above them.

It’s disgusting.

Steve grits his teeth, ripping his head away from the scene. He slams his locker closed and mutters, “Bastard.” 

 

* * *

 

Tony knows about the gazes. He can feel them digging into his body like fishing hooks, trying to reel him in. As if he were just some prize. As if he weren’t even human.

Every interaction is clouded by greed. Every look sent his way is calculated. Every word spoken is a sword match. (He makes sure he always wins.)

Everyone is watching him, but does anyone _see_?

A locker slams somewhere behind him, and he can feel a warm body shove past. Blonde hair and broad shoulders storm down the halls. For a moment, people stare at the retreating figure, and Tony finally feels their slimy gazes slip off him, overlooking him.

It feels nice.

But then the hungry looks are back, and Tony internally sags under the weight.

An arm slings around his shoulders. The teen can only feel annoyance as he stares into a familiar face. Icey blue eyes bore into him.

“Ty,” Tony greets, tone neutral.

Stone squeezes Tony in return, a snake-like smirk on his lips. “Tony! Buddy ol’ pal, how ya been?”

The smile on Tony’s face could freeze lava. “Would be better if you left me the fuck alone.”

Stone’s grip becomes vice-like, and he shoots a tight smile to anyone listening in on the conversation (which is basically everyone). Tony may not like Stone, but a begrudging feeling of gratitude seeps into him as the stares stop.

“Aw, c’mon Tony. I swear I didn’t know you were dating Rumiko!” The asshole crosses his (nonexistent) heart. Tony actually considers sticking a needle in the jerk’s eye. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you even a boy scout?”

“Besides!” The lack of response is answer enough. “She wasn’t even that good. I’m telling you, you dodged a bullet there.”

“Don’t even worry about it, _Stone_.” Tony’s voice matches his chilly glare, a direct contrast to his cheery smile. “You two _deserve_ each other.”

The blonde pauses, a shiver going down his spine. “Really now…?”

“Definitely! She’s a cheating asshole, and you’re a lying bastard! A perfect match, really.”

Stone, thank fuck, stops following Tony after that.

 

* * *

 

> _H_ _oneyed words_  
>  _Dribble from my cunning lips._  
>  _Vultures circle around_  
>  _And eat it,_  
>  _But what they really want is me._

 

* * *

 

“You’re staring, Steve. Again.”

The blonde sharply turns to glare at his best friend. “Shut up.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky sing-songs, “I’m not hearing a denial.”

A lunch tray clatters across from the pair as Clint takes a seat. “Is Steve making heart eyes at Stark again?”

“Am not!”

“He is—ow! What the―? Nat?!”

The redhead, gracefully sitting down, stares unmercifully at her boyfriend.

“Stop torturing Steve.”

“Clint was doing it too!”

The teen in question whistles innocently and looks away. “Who? Me? Never!”

“Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.” Natasha, clearly the only mature one, sighs.

Trying (and failing) to hide a victorious smile, Steve digs into his homemade lunch, resolutely ignoring the dark scowl Bucky sends his way.

Casual chatter once again springs up among the group, becoming even livelier when Thor and Sam join. Steve lets the familiar voices wash over him, a fond smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. Not in a talkative mood, he just calmly listens in on all the conversations: the joking barbs between Sam and Bucky, the booming tales from Thor, the intimate exchanges between Bucky and Nat, and the general chaos from Clint.

_This_ , he thinks, _is home_.

Steve focuses back on his lunch, his friends becoming soothing background noise. Eventually, he starts surveying the lunch room, and his eyes settle on its previous target: Tony Stark.

The brunet is smirking, an arm around a giggling blonde. She’s pressing herself into his side, fluttering her lashes and lowering her eyelids. Whistling and cheers erupt from the other people sitting around the millionaire. Steve sees the smirk widen, and all he can think about is how _fake_ it is.

_Everything_ about Stark is fake. And Steve hates it.

Everyone just laps it all up, idolizing the complete _lie_ that is Tony Stark. They don’t see that Stark is a phony. A sham. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. It’s clear that the playboy just wants attention, and it makes Steve _sick_.

Stark starts getting up, casually brushing the blonde off his side and ignoring her pout. He always disappears around this time. No one knows where he goes. Some think he’s hooking up with a teacher, others think he’s doing drugs or drinking alcohol. Honestly, either option sounds plausible.

Finally, as Stark exits the cafeteria doors, Steve turns his attention back to his friends, coming face to face with Natasha’s scrutinizing stare. He barely holds back a flinch and returns her gaze in kind.

All their other friends are oblivious to the silent exchange going on.

Even with Bucky as a barrier between the two, Steve can hear Nat’s voice loud and clear.

“Stark is trouble, Steve.”

He straightens, smothering the rising indignation. “I know, Nat.”

“He only cares for himself. Wherever your interest in him is coming from, I suggest you drop it.” Her blank stare is nothing but pure disapproval, and Steve can’t help the frustrated sigh that escapes him.

“I _know_ , Nat! I just…” He tosses around the explanation in his mind. “I need to figure out _why_. Y’know?” (Judging from Nat’s unimpressed gaze, she doesn’t know.) “Like, what is it that draws people to him? And, well…” He trails off, embarrassed by his interest.

_Who is he really?_

Nat finally ( _finally_ ) turns her piercing gaze away from him and, magically reading his mind, bitterly ridicules, “He’s a self-centered asshole. That’s all you need to know.”

Logically, Steve understands that, okay yes, his casual… “regard” for Stark may be odd, but he wants to _know_. What is it about Stark that has people flocking to him despite his blatant disrespect of others’ feelings? How can he possibly treat people so poorly when everyone seems to look up to him?

Steve needs a justification. There must be some reason why the millionaire earned the respect of so many.

He just needs to figure it out.

 

* * *

 

_She sees him, his dead eyes and empty smirk. Manipulative words dancing around his victims’ heads._

_She thinks_ , He’s despicable.

_She thinks_ , He’s just like me.

_And, against her better judgment, she’s hooked._

_As the new girl at school, she needs a guide. So, she struts up to him, holds out her hand, and says, “I’m Natasha Romanov. And you’re my tour guide.”_

_He looks at her, genuine surprise, and perhaps amusement, twinkling in his eyes. Giving her a quick once-over, he simply replies, “Sure.”_

_And it goes from there._

_She watches him work the masses, twist them around his fingers. And she does the same._

_She’s relieved. Logically, she knows there are other people just as sickening as she is, but that’s different from seeing it in person. He becomes her safety blanket. Whenever she feels self-loathing eat away at her, she looks at him and thinks,_ I’m not the only one _._

_He looks back at her too, sometimes_. _She thinks she sees sadness there._

_Together, they brave the school halls. Together, they put on a smile. Together._

_Nat and Tony. Tony and Nat._

_And then it ends._

_“It’s over,” he says._

_The words echo in her mind and in the empty classroom. Anger, frustration, indignation, ~~hurt~~ rises up._

_“So that’s it.” Her flat tone trembles. “You’re just gonna use me and throw me away?”_

_He doesn’t say anything._

_She swivels on her heel and heads for the exit. Just as the door slams shut, she hears a whisper._

“You were using me too.”

 

* * *

 

“Stark,” the trickster greets, tossing a lighter towards the arrival.

Tony catches it, nodding in acknowledgment. “Odinson.”

The black-haired teen scowls, “ _Do not_ call me that, _Stark_.”

“Well then don’t call me Stark, Bambi.” Tony takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it, feeling his nerves subside.

Loki continues to sneer at the genius but refrains from saying anything. Bambi isn’t _ideal_ (he wears horns _one fucking time_ for a stupid play and all of a sudden, it’s deer references _everywhere_ ), but it’s sure as hell better than _Odinson_.

“Curse you, peasant.”

“Ha!” A bitter smile curls Tony’s lips. He throws the lighter back to Loki. “Certainly never heard that one before. You do realize I’m basically as rich as you?”

The troublemaker catches the lighter with a tsk. “Ah, ah, ah.” Waggling his finger, Loki’s lips twitch into a barely-noticeable smirk. There’s nothing like bantering with someone who can actually keep up. “ _Almost_ as rich, but not quite, _peasant_.”

The laugh Tony huffs out is almost fond.

Comfortable silence settles between the not-quite-friends as both take a drag from their cigarettes. Beer bottles litter the ground around them, and flies weave their way between the figures. This little crevice behind the school, next to the dumpsters, is the prime spot for… “recreational” activities. Others usually avoid the area due to the smell, and the evidence of any unsavory happenings is easy to dispose of. Plus, no cameras.

As he finishes his cig, Loki lets his gaze wander over to his company. Tony had only recently discovered this area, sometime after Loki himself claimed it, scaring away those who encroached into his territory. Unlike those who came before, Loki let Tony stay, finding the genius’ sharp tongue and impish grin intriguing. He was loath to say it, but the other teen reminded Loki of himself. And the self-titled God of Mischief found himself warming up to Tony.

“Geez, Lokes, stare any harder and I might think you have a crush on me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you have daddy-issues.”

Loki rescinds his previous thought, glare fixed on Stark’s irritating face once more. (They had a love-hate relationship.)

“What?” Stark has the audacity to feign innocence. “I thought we were stating the obvious.”

Huffing, Loki snaps, “And I suppose you’d know _all about_ daddy issues.”

Tony grins at Loki, unfazed. “Yeah, pretty much.” Something soft curls around the edges of his smile.

A small wave of surprise washes over Loki, and his eyes widen a fraction. Every now and then, there are these… _moments_ where Stark just _melts_. Sometimes Loki will push back at Stark’s jibes and, instead of gearing up for a fight, the teen just…goes gooey and soft and so painfully _honest_ that Loki feels his breath stolen from him. It’s like a little glitch in Tony’s character that Loki feels he wasn’t supposed to see.

He turns away from Tony’s serene gaze, helplessly annoyed and endeared at the same time.

Loki coughs to fill the silence, trying to collect himself. He can feel Tony’s stare bore into his back.

“Geez, Tony.” He finally looks back at his…companion. “Stare any harder and I might think you have a crush on me.”

The genius positively _beams_.

Before he can stop himself, Tony’s blurting out, “Loki…Have I ever shown you my notebook?”

 

* * *

 

_Sunset smiles at him, eyes glazed in what he assumes to be contentment. (Looking back, perhaps he was just projecting onto her.)_

_“I love you,” he whispers._

_She simply kisses him in return, pressing soft lips against his chapped ones. Afterward, she leans in close to his ear, hand subtly sliding up his (clothed) chest. He leans back against the couch. They had been watching some movies at her house, something to mix up date night._

_“If you love me, then show me what’s in the notebook.”_

_He glances at the object in question, feeling a need to ensure its safety. It, of course, is in the same place he left it. The notebook_ never _leaves his side._

_Gulping, he grabs her hand and pushes it away. “Why?” The question comes out as an unattractive croak._

_Sunset shakes her head like he’s some confused kindergartener. “That. That’s why.” Gesturing at his face, she continues, “You’re so secretive about it. I thought there were no secrets in this relationship?”_

_“Um… Uh. It’s, well.” A blush rapidly creeps up his neck as words continue to fail him. “It’s just…boring company stuff. I didn’t really...didn’t think you’d be interested.”_

_Her eyes search his for any sign of deceit. He holds his breath. Finally, the scrutiny ends, and she’s resting her head back on his shoulder._

_“Okay, honey.”_

_The endearment warms his chest, bringing a smile upon his face. He sinks into the couch, blinking his eyes blearily as sleep overcomes him._

_Later, he wakes up to nudges at his arm. Sunset’s hazel brown eyes come into view, and he faintly registers the alarm in them._

_“You’ve got to go!” She hisses. “My parents are coming home.”_

_He groans and rolls over on the couch, but her persistent tugging and frantic commands urge him into action. Shoving him out the back, Sunset tosses his bookbag to him and slams the door._

_He tries to brush the incident off since he knows Sunset’s parents are strict, but something keeps nagging him at the back of his mind. With a shrug, he decides to sleep on it._

_The next day, he promptly flips out when he realizes he left his notebook. Flooring it to his girlfriend’s house, he lets out a string of curses, praying that Sunset didn’t read it. He spots her pristine brick house and slows down to park._

_She opens the door as soon as his car pulls into the driveway. Her eyes are cold cold cold_ _and it’s sending so many signals of_ wrong _into his head._

_The next thing he knows, the notebook is being handed to him in perfect condition. A full-blown sigh of relief breezes past his lips. (But, of course, Sunset had to open her Goddamn mouth.)_

_“I knew you were pathetic, Stark.” She drawls, checking out her nails. “But I didn’t realize you were_ that _pathetic. Not to mention fucking_ useless _.”_

_“W-what?” Tony, for all his bluster and sarcasm, is at a loss for words. (For a moment, he flashes back to his father, a bottle smashing against the kitchen wall. “How did I get stuck with a son like_ you? _”)_

_“We’re through, Stark. You obviously aren’t going to spill anything about the company, so I’m not going to waste my time.” There’s a pause before she adds on, “Even more than I already have.”_

_The door, once again, slams in his face. He resolutely ignores the salty drops rolling down his cheeks. The notebook_ burns _in his hands_.

 

* * *

 

> _They smile wide,_  
>  _Showing blackened teeth._  
>  _Spiders crawl through_  
>  _The  c r a c k s_  
>  _And weave webs over my eyes._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, I honestly still have so many ideas for this thing but like, I'm iffy about how to execute them. Soooo, we'll see what happens.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
